An Unconventional Miss (22 page)

L
ady Helen's supper party at the Vauxhall Gardens was in full swing—if such an epithet could be applied to the tightly controlled behaviour and restrained laughter of the somewhat supercilious group of individuals now assembled within her hired box! And, although Jessica's mind was, more or less, fully occupied with the tantalising question of when or whether Wyvern might choose to put in an appearance, she could not help wondering why Felicity Draycott and her friends ever bothered to attend such a cosmopolitan gathering, if all they intended to do was to mock or criticise the passers-by. They had refrained from joining in the choruses of the songs, as she had quickly discovered to her cost, her own short burst of enthusiasm having bought deprecating frowns from both of her female neighbours. Added to which, not one of them had made the slightest attempt to join the dancers around the Rotunda, openly averring that such over-boisterous performances were both unseemly and vulgar.

The earlier part of the day had gone so slowly that it had been difficult for Jessica to keep her simmering excitement under control. Luckily, her brother Matt had been far too involved with the tedious business of organising the packing up of the household belongings to bother much with his young sister. Short of asking her how she had enjoyed herself at the Conynghams' ball, he had paid her very little attention.

Imogen, however, had required a far more detailed recital of the previous evening's events and it had taken all of Jessica's descriptive powers to satisfy her cousin's eager questioning. Thankfully, there was no necessity for her to resort to untruths, since her vivid descriptions of the ballroom's exotic decorations, the spectacular lighting in the garden and the lavish choice of delicacies in the supper room were more than enough to bring a wistful smile to Imogen's face. And, if Jessica's eyes did seem a little overbright and her demeanour rather more agitated than of late, her cousin simply assumed it to be as a result of the excitement of the previous evening's entertainment.

Having already visited the highly popular pleasure gardens earlier in the Season, none of its attractions was of especial interest to Jessica, particularly since she, once again, found herself being squired by the Honourable Walter Allardyce who, in her opinion, had to be one of the greatest bores she had met during the whole of her time in London. If he mentioned the new gas lighting once more, she was quite certain that she would scream out loud! As for the music! To her dispassionate ears, the musicians in the Rotunda, striving to make themselves heard above the cacophony of shrill chatter that emanated from the diverse bevy of humanity passing by, seemed to be exhibiting far less proficiency than she recalled from her previous visit. The only advantage of being in a supper box, as far as she could see, was that it gave her a clearer view of the populace than if the group had chosen to join the confused jumble below.

Provided they could afford the price of the three-shilling entry ticket, the gardens were open to every single class of person imaginable, from the lowest costermonger to the highest duke in the land, not to mention a goodly smattering of the showy Birds of Paradise who plied their trade in the more dimly lit dark walks. Even the Prince Regent himself was said to be greatly enamoured of the place!

Politely declining yet another offering of the thinly sliced ham for which the Gardens were famed, Jessica's eyes travelled eagerly across the shifting countenances of the swarming masses below, desperately seeking out that one beloved face that had come to mean so much to her. But, alas, to no avail! Inexorably, the hands on the clock above the Rotunda crept onwards and still no sign of the earl. Finally, when the Master of Ceremonies announced that the firework spectacular that rounded off the evening's entertainment would commence in fifteen or so minutes, she was obliged to resign herself to the fact that, for whatever reason, Wyvern had found it impossible to join her, as he had promised he would endeavour to do. Now she would have to go back to Thornfield without any clear idea of when she might see him again. It was possible that he might write to her, she supposed glumly but, with Matt and Imogen overseeing the house's letters, she doubted whether, in view of his present lack of funds, that would be a very wise thing for him to attempt. Inwardly cursing the wretched Theo for having made his brother's task so difficult, she prayed that Wyvern would soon lay his hands on the hidden documents.

Deeply intent upon trying to think of some way to solve her difficulties, she was shaken back to reality by the angry voices of the four gentlemen who were tonight's escorts.

‘Clear off, Hazlett!' Gerald Pevensey was saying. ‘Leave Miss Draycott alone! You and your sort are not welcome here!'

Craning her neck, Jessica caught sight of a tall, scar-faced individual backing away from the box. His manner of dress seemed to indicate that he belonged to the upper classes but, when he turned to face her and gave her what could only be described as a knowing wink, she was immediately assured that he most certainly did not! Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she bent her head towards Felicity, who was seated next to her, intending to enquire as to the stranger's purpose in coming to their box. To her consternation, her friend's face had turned a deathly white and she looked as though she were about to faint.

Reaching out her hands, in order to prevent the swaying girl from falling out of her seat, Jessica called out, ‘Some water, quickly, please, gentlemen!'

Unfortunately, since water was not a commodity that was readily available in the supper boxes, a choice of arrack punch or champagne was the best that any of their escorts were able to offer her.

Opting for the lesser intoxicating wine, Jessica dipped her handkerchief in the proffered glass and dabbed it against Felicity's lips, noting, with considerable relief, that the other girl's cheeks were starting to regain their colour and that she seemed to be recovering from whatever had caused her distress.

‘It was that swine Hazlett,' sniffed Sir Philip Henderson indignantly, as he leant forward and, somewhat feebly, patted Felicity on her shoulder. ‘The sight of his evil face is enough to frighten even the strongest of stomachs!'

Summoning up every vestige of her former self-control, Felicity inclined her head. ‘He did give me something of a shock,' she conceded then, getting to her feet, she added, ‘What say we all take a little stroll about the gardens before the firework display begins? We have been sitting here so long that I am sure the exercise would do us a world of good, do you not agree?'

‘Are you sure that you are up to it, Felicity?' questioned Jessica, rather taken aback at her friend's sudden bout of energy.

She was more than a little hurt when Felicity, instead of answering Jessica's well-intentioned query as to her well being, averted her eyes and, laying her hand on Mr Pevensey's proffered arm, stepped down from the supper box, leaving Jessica in a ferment of doubt and indignation. Surely, it cannot be out of bounds to enquire after someone's health, she thought, shaking her head in amazement. Had it not been for her painful disappointment at Wyvern's non-appearance, she was beginning to feel not at all sorry about returning to Thornfield on the morrow, for at least this would mean that she would be done with always having to defer to the complicated vagaries of Felicity Draycott and her wearisome set of friends!

Then, suddenly conscious that the Honourable Walter had been patiently waiting to assist her down from the supper box, she accepted his arm and allowed him to escort her across the crowded concourse in the wake of the other three couples, doing her best to close her mind to his inevitable remarks about the superiority of the new gas lighting, as compared with the garden's older and far less reliable system of oil lamps!

‘Who was that gentleman who was pestering Miss Draycott?' she asked, as soon as she was able to get a word in edgewise. ‘She seemed very put out by his appearance!'

‘Nasty piece of work, name of Hazlett,' replied Allardyce, somewhat testily. ‘Fellow had no business confronting Miss Draycott in such a brazen manner! Actually leaned right over the barrier and spoke to her! Nearly had a mind to call the scoundrel out!'

‘Yes, but who is he?' persisted Jessica, who had been mulling over Felicity's rather odd behaviour towards her. Some inner instinct was telling her that the deathly pallor of the other girl's cheeks was not something that could be laid down to a simple affront at having been accosted by a passing roisterer. Nor indeed, could the terrified expression she had witnessed in the other girl's eyes. Clearly, there was some mystery here!

However, it seemed that Allardyce was not at all anxious to continue the conversation. ‘Bad lot,' he said, abruptly. ‘Not at all our sort of person—best not to worry your pretty little head about such things!' Then, with a puzzled frown, he added, ‘Well, I'll be da—! Oh, pray excuse my language, Miss Beresford!'

‘Is there something wrong, sir?' enquired Jessica, hiding the smile that threatened. As though she had not heard far worse language than his restrained expletive, she thought scornfully.

‘Not at all, my dear,' came the Honourable Walter's swift reply. ‘I was just a little surprised that we were taking this particular route, that is all.'

Not having been paying a great deal of attention to her surroundings, Jessica, too, was just a little taken aback at finding herself being led down what appeared to be one of the notorious dark walks of the gardens. Even Matt, as she recalled, had refused Imogen's teasing request that they might investigate the area and, laughingly pulling her away from the entrance down which she had been peering, had pretended to be deeply shocked at his wife's prurient interest in such matters. He had later explained that the more respectable elements of society tended to avoid such areas, since they were known to be the favourite trysting-places of some of the rather doubtful-looking characters who could be seen wandering about the gardens.

Only very slightly nervous, since she and Allardyce were still in close company with the other three couples in front of them, Jessica tightened her grip on her escort's arm.

‘The gaslights are much further apart down here, aren't they?' she observed, her voice almost a whisper.

‘Probably cost too much,' the Honourable Walter replied, patting her hand reassuringly. ‘Can't think why Pevensey thought to venture down here—not at all the—
oof
!'

The remainder of Allardyce's words were cut off in midstream and, to Jessica's horror, he collapsed in a heap at her feet, blood streaming from a cut on his head. Before she could regain sufficient presence of mind to scream out for assistance, a vile-smelling blanket was thrown over her head, obscuring her vision and muffling her angry protests. Almost immediately, a pair of strong arms whisked her off her feet, dragged her backwards through the bushes that bordered the walk, tearing her skirts and ripping off one of her slippers in the process.

Oh, God, no! she thought, in dismay. Not another abduction! Matt will go berserk! Then, despite her far from laughable situation, she almost smiled at her own lunacy and, ceasing her frantic struggles to escape from her unknown captor, she let herself go limp in his arms. Knowing that it was in her nature to be a veritable spitfire when she was really roused, she had decided that it would be far more prudent to conserve her energy until a more suitable opportunity presented itself.

‘The chit seems to have fainted,' she heard a coarse voice mutter. ‘Best if we take off this 'ere blanket—whadyer say?'

‘Nah!' came the reply from his associate, who sounded equally uncouth. ‘Won't do 'er no 'arm—carriage'll be 'ere in 'alf a tick!'

Her heart pounding, Jessica realised that her captor had come to a halt then, moments later, as she heard the sound of horse's hooves and carriage wheels on a gravel surface, she recognised that they must have arrived at the roadway outside the gardens. The carriage door was opened and she felt herself being hoisted upwards and deposited, with no great civility, on to one of its seats. For several moments, she lay supine, as she waited to hear whether either of her abductors were intending to travel with her. To her surprise, and considerable relief, the door was shut and the unmistakable sound of someone vaulting up beside the driver was heard, indicating that at least one of her captors was travelling with them. Then the gentle rocking movements commensurate with those of her brother's finely sprung landau were soon to be felt. A gentleman's carriage, concluded Jessica, as she gingerly inched the foul covering from over her head, giving a gasp of dismay when she realised that, contrary to her expectations, she could see little more now than she had before! All the windows had been obscured and, when she finally managed to sidle across the seat to reach one of them, she discovered that the leather curtains had been securely taped to the framework. The door, as she had supposed, had been secured from the outside.

With a rapidly sinking heart, she realised that, until the carriage reached its intended destination, there was not a lot she could do to help herself and, although she did her best to keep track of its left and right-handed turnings, the only place that she could easily identify, thanks to the clear difference in sound, was when they crossed Vauxhall Bridge. At least they were now on the north side of the river, she thought with some relief and, judging from the carriage's regular forward progression at that point, they seemed to be making for the St James's Park area, but then, after several more twists and turns, she was obliged to admit that she no longer had any idea where they might be.